


Caves and Cold

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the person who isn't a wizard saves the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caves and Cold

**Author's Note:**

> For [alsywalsy](www.alsywalsy.tumblr.com) on tumblr, who prompted: "dark castle, blanket, warm, fuzzy." Hope you enjoy it, it's been great being your Secret Santa!

                Belle had been born with no magic at all, one of few children in her village that hadn’t been “touched by the fairies,” as the old folk put it. There was plenty of conjecture about why so many of her generation had magic spilling from their fingertips, from simple abilities like fire-starting and water-divining to banishing rot from crops and raising walls. The village prospered, even as many of its inhabitants left for faraway cities and universities, to learn to use their powers.

                Belle, who couldn’t so much as call up a light from her hand, sought to make herself strong in other ways. As the town grew in size and wealth, her father bought books from far lands, and she studied them. Many were books of magic, for those who could use it, but many were natural history, languages, and law.

                When the ogre war encroached upon them, she drew up schematics of earthworks and buried herself in old battle strategies. She had no powers on the front lines, and no strength to heal the wounded behind the lines, but she could mark out the best places to shore up defenses and position their soldiers and mages. She drafted letters out to those who had left, asking them to return and use their powers to defend their home.

                Her closest friends, Gaston, Rochelle, and Henni, sat with her in the evenings, reporting what had worked and what hadn’t.

                “They are vulnerable to crushing and stabbing, not slicing blows: everything must be concentrated,” Gaston said, rubbing his eyes. His powers were minimal, and he was more soldier than sorcerer: he reinforced the edge on his sword and could heal small scratches. Rochelle, who built most of their earthworks and battle towers, was pale and drawn tonight. Belle thought she had lost weight and color in the months of war, drawing on her powers for hours on end.

                “We need more bowmen,” she agreed. “More defenses for them, as well. They are so many: the king is loath to send many men when he knows we have so many mages.” Belle nodded. Her father spent his time training the troops for Gaston and the others to lead out: diplomacy often fell to her, along with her war council duties.

                “The capital sees us as a defense and possible offense,” she said, pulling out the latest letter from the royal general. “Rochelle and Henni are the strongest mages we have, though: most of our offensive strength is in our troops. They just won’t listen to me.”

                Henni tapped the table, focusing the others’ attention on her. Mute since birth, and severe in appearance, Henni was their strongest fighter, responsible for more ogre casualties than their total troops.

                _We are pushed too thin. They are starting to flank us_ , she signed.

                “This is going to become a siege,” Gaston said, and Belle nodded.

                “And if we retreat fully into the town, they can just move around us, into the countryside and further east.” Rochelle rubbed her forehead at this pronouncement. Belle pulled forward one of her many volumes.

                “What do you think of dispatching some of the engineers to pass points in the forest and digging spiked ditches? Restrict their movement somewhat? You all say that they prefer surprise attacks when they’re not on the front lines: it makes sense, given that when not at war, they are tribal or solitary raiders.” Henni nodded, and Gaston and Rochelle followed suit.

                “It can’t hurt: our earthworks at the front will last a while. I can take teams to the most passable places and make them less so.” Rochelle flexed her cracked hands and sipped at a cup of soup gone cold. “We’ll leave before dawn.” She stood up, nodded to the others, and left.

                “Don’t forget to rest!” Belle called out as the door closed behind her.

                _You too_ , Henni signed. Belle shrugged.

                “I have more letters to send before I sleep,” she said. Indeed, few responses to her requests for troops to aid them had come from nearby fiefs, and they had received only thirty more men from those who had responded. She would have to see about mercenaries soon.

~

                “This is the fifteenth day only of the siege, and we’re on the brink of collapse. Their reinforcements have taken a huge toll, and the extra royal troops came too late to be really significant.” Gaston and Rochelle looked so tired, keeping their heads resolutely up, eyes deeply shadowed. Belle doubted she looked much better.

                “I thought Henni took out some fifteen of them with her?” Belle’s father was present at this meeting, back from the battlements. His face was grey and tired along with theirs.

                “They’ve fifty more now,” Gaston said grimly. “In another day, we’re going to have to retreat fully to within the walls of the town.”

                “We need a new strategy,” Belle said. “Fighting them this way isn’t enough.”

                “Fighting magical beings is near impossible,” Rochelle said. “Not with our limitations. No one returning from far off will make it in enough time to save us.”

                “What about asking for help from Leopold’s kingdom? Isn’t the queen a witch?” Belle shook her head at her father’s question.

                “I already wrote to everyone; no one woman could hold them off, anyway. Not at this stage.”

                “The army is prepared to fight to the last man,” Gaston said, jaw knotted with tension. “But I think we should plan a method for cutting through their lines in daylight to evacuate what’s left of the villagers.”

                “And make the last of our people refugees,” Rochelle ground out. Gaston spread his blistered hands.

                “What else is there to do? A month ago, I would have said we would never cave like this, but we are going to lose.”

                “The villagers have all fled to the countryside, and there are thousands of people—untold acres of food—that will be lost once the town falls. The entire fief will be lost!” Belle clenched her fists, wracking her tired brain for answers. The fairies had failed to answer their pleas for help, no more mages or witches had come, no more troops. She’d been through every book of lore of the land, sacrificed to every spirit of the forest and rivers for intercession—nothing.

                “We will fight to the last man,” Maurice echoed Gaston’s words. “Enough to let as many people as possible escape.” Belle leaned back in her seat, head and heart aching.

                _It’s not enough._ Their troops were dying, crushed by the ogres’ onslaught. Their mages were burning out and collapsing on the battlefield, paying the price of magic with their lives. She had seen Henni leave three mornings ago, anemic and gaunt and insisting she could handle another day of battle, and she had seen the fireball that had immolated fifteen of the enemy when she had finally died. Rochelle looked to be headed in the same direction, draining herself more and more each day. Their physicians told her to stop, that her heart beat too fast and weak, but she was right when she said they couldn’t afford for her to take a day off.

                Belle wished, desperately, not for the first time, that she had been born with magic also. She had watched her mother killed before her eyes, when they had been in the border outpost. She had watched from the battlements as their soldiers died, as her friends came back exhausted and drained. She didn’t want to die, but if they were going to die anyway—and she and her father couldn’t leave, not as their leaders—she wanted to die bravely, and usefully. With a legacy other than failed plans and beaten tactics.

~

                Her candle was sputtering out, half drowned in its own wax, but Belle kept reading. They had cleared a path for the last of the villagers, and withdrawn into the walls of the keep. The town was half destroyed. Rochelle had fallen shielding the fleeing villagers; Gaston was in charge of the walls of the keep. She was going through the most obscure volumes, hoping for some spell, some invocation, some summoning that their surviving mages could perform. Some miracle.

                Sleep was a distant demon: her exhausted eyes had trouble focusing, but sleep was impossible with the walls shaking, the churn of loss in her gut. _There is a legend that the demon of the dark castle [no specific castle has been noted or described, but the legend is strong in the mountains north of Eldara] will appear if summoned by name. The peoples of the region will only speak the name aloud in times of distress. The name is passed along in obscure rhymes, which the villagers would not disclose to me._

“Very helpful,” Belle growled, catching a drip of wax on her hand, not wanting to stain the book, though it hardly mattered now. They would all be destroyed soon. She kept reading despite herself. Maybe there was some clue.

                _The demon trades for human life, and is reputed to be able to fulfill any wish besides a resurrection from death. The legend is notably similar to a much older tale from the same region, that of a wizard, elf, or demon that would trade children for gold: this figure also resided in a hidden ‘dark castle’ and had a semi-secret name: Rumpelstiltskin, occasionally invoked as a curse upon a despised neighbor._

Belle slammed the book closed, wondering why she was wasting her time reading obscure myths from distant places when she should be spending a few last hours with her friends and father. She left it on the library table, blew her ruined candle out, and walked towards the great hall.

                “Rumpelstiltskin, indeed!” she ground out. “As if we haven’t tried yet to summon demons.” She was surprised to find herself crying a little, tears dripping from her eyes for the first time since the war began. “As if there weren’t demons at our door.” She rounded a corner and gasped in surprise: a dark figure, a mere silhouette with a wall torch at his back, was standing in the corridor.

                “Believe me, if you had demons at your door, matters would be worse,” he said, voice high and somehow toneless.

                “Who are you?” She didn’t bother to yell for help: everyone was occupied with more important matters. Belle stepped closer to the intruder, trying to see his face in the darkness.

                “Rumpelstiltskin,” he said, waving a hand. Belle thought she saw his skin shine in the torchlight, dark and somehow glittery. “You summoned me.”

                “Now?” she said, rage drying her tears. “On the eve of everything being lost, after our people have died in the hundreds, as our doors are breaking down, now a summoning works?”

                “Apparently,” he said, sounding unconcerned. Belle folded her arms.

                “Defeat the ogres. Beat them back,” she demanded. “Your stories tell of unlimited power.” He turned and stepped away from her, then turned back when he was in the light. His skin was indeed a dark golden green, scaly and glittering in places. His eyes were yellow like a lizard’s, his nails blackened and hardened into claws. Belle caught her breath despite herself. He dressed like a man, in leather and silk, but he fixed her with a still cold stare, like a snake.

                “Are you giving me orders?” he asked, voice more dangerous. Belle squared her shoulders.

                “Aren’t you a summoned demon?” she asked in return. He smiled, baring teeth that looked half-rotten, and Belle nearly flinched.

                “Not that kind. I’m not that kind of demon, and I make deals, I don’t follow orders.”

                “Why don’t you come talk to the council then?” she asked, indicating that they should walk. He didn’t move, just leaned against the wall as a blow shook the keep. “Quickly!” she urged.

                “You summoned me. What’s your offer?” Belle blinked.

                “My life. All my possessions. Anything I can give you.” He inhaled, as if she had presented him with wine or tea.

                “You are desperate,” he mused, and clapped his hands. Belle curled her lip.

                “What do you want? Say it, or I will leave so I can say goodbye to my father!”

                “Yes,” he said. “I’d like you to do something for me. I may have a task for you.” Belle blinked, then braced herself as another blow shook dust down upon them.

                “You must save us first, and I’ll do anything. You have my word.” She licked her lips. Promising a demon anything wasn’t wise, but she had little to lose. If that was all he wanted—one person—she would go willingly.

                “Of course,” he said. “Congratulations on your little war.” And he disappeared from the corridor.

~

                Belle woke up, surprised to see that she had fallen asleep at all. She was lying on her back on something uncomfortable; her neck ached. She put a hand to her bleary eyes and sat upright, grey dust falling from her hair into her lap. Her mouth was dry. Had she fallen over from exhaustion in the corridor? She scrambled to her feet, vision blacking out for a moment as her head pounded.

                She was in a corridor, but it was completely silent: the crashes of the siege were absent. She ran a hand through her hair, blinking down at the dust. The whole keep had been shaking; the dust had come from the plaster and stones above. She glanced up: the ceiling was high above her. A glance down showed her a carpeted hallway, with dark walls hung with unfamiliar tapestries.

                This was not her home. The dust of her home still clung to her, and now to the thin carpet she’d been lying on, but she was not home.

                “Hello?” she tried, and looked up and down the hallway. Which would be the best direction to go in? She had no idea. She walked forward. She could always double back if she got nowhere.

                The dry, cold walls boasted tapestries every few yards or so: some old, darkened over the years so that figures and patterns were dim, and some newer, brilliant with red and blue thread. All were very fine, exquisitely crafted: together, they must be worth fortunes. Even the unevenly worn carpets beneath her feet were woven into complex patterns. Belle bit her lip: she was in some grand castle somewhere, judging by the wealth crammed into this one deserted corridor.

                She kept walking, until the corridor ended in an arched entryway, with two bright torches on either side.

                “Hello?” she asked again, licking her lips and regretting it as her mouth dried further.

                “You’re awake,” a high-pitched voice observed, from _behind_ her, and she whirled, stifling a scream. “Welcome to the Dark Castle.” It was Rumpelstiltskin, looking the same as he had in the corridor at her home, standing casually in front of her, smirking. At least, she thought he was smirking. His unusual face made it hard to tell.

                “You took me,” she said. He inclined his head. “How do I know you’ve kept your word?” she cried. “You could have lied.” He narrowed his eyes at her and stepped next to her, glaring down.

                “I don’t go back on my deals,” he said softly. Belle refused to be intimidated.

                “Will you prove it?” she asked. “I don’t know you. I can’t take your word.” He seemed annoyed, but slapped a mirror she was sure he hadn’t been holding a moment before into her hand. Belle lifted it up, confused, but instead of her reflection, she was seeing what had been the battlefields, still churned up and muddy, but empty of the enemy. The keep behind was still standing, and there were people moving about in front of it and on the walls. Belle felt something unclench in her chest, and suddenly she was crying again, and laughing with it, sinking to her knees as relief made her dizzy. The mirror slipped out of her hands and fell with a clunk onto the carpet.

                “Oh gods,” Belle choked out. “Thank you,” she said, trying to catch her breath. Grief and relief were wracking her entire body. Rumpelstiltskin, when she looked up at him, seemed uncomfortable.

                “Yes,” he said snippily. “Now it’s time to fulfill your side of the bargain, dearie.” Belle struggled to her feet, wiping her eyes and nose.

                “Of course,” she said quickly. “Yes, of course. I’m ready.”

~

                Rumpelstiltskin gave her a heavy coat and a pair of fur-lined boots, told her to eat something, and vanished. Belle changed her shoes and started wandering in search of the kitchen, the coat draped over her arm. The Dark Castle was warm enough that her feet were going to be hot soon, in these new boots. They were going somewhere cold, then. She reflected on that as she headed down a staircase, hoping to find food at the other end.

                It took another corridor before she found a pantry. There wasn’t much food: fruited bread of some kind, a jug of juice and another of wine, some cheese, a cooked chicken breast, all on the same small shelf. The barrels of wine, casks of beer, sacks of grains and tubers, piles of hard squashes—all that she expected in a castle’s pantry, in short—were absent. She ate most of the bread and cheese, half the chicken, and found a mug for the juice. A sip told her the wine was sweet and good, but strong, and she wanted her wits about her.

                What use a powerful demon would have for her in some cold wasteland, Belle couldn’t imagine. He had given her the coat and boots, so likely he wasn’t going to kill her in some ritual sacrifice. She chewed on the bread and wished for a bowl of water to clean the grit from her hair and face. Going in search of the castle well would be in order shortly.

                “Ready, dearie?” Belle startled, knocking over her mug of juice as her hands jerked. Rumpelstiltskin made an unpleasant sniggering noise and snapped his fingers, vanishing the spill. She turned to face him, heart thudding. His sudden silent entrances and exits unsettled her.

                “Yes,” she said, trying to even her breath out. “What am I going to be doing?”

                “I’ll explain when we get there,” he said dismissively. “Best put on that coat, wouldn’t want you to get cold.” Belle did so, trying to shake off his grating, condescending tone. He held his arm out to her, like a gentleman offering to dance at a ball, and Belle wasn’t sure what to do. He twitched his head at her, and she stopped staring blankly at him and took it, confused. He stepped forward, the bend of his knee and the slight smile on his lips playing at a ball dance, and Belle stepped after him.

                The walls of the Dark Castle stretched, blurred, and vanished, and then they were standing on a snowy slope, a slight, cold breeze blowing into Belle’s face. She tried to step, slipped, and ended up hanging gracelessly to Rumpelstiltskin’s arm until her boots gripped the snow. It was cold, her breath hanging in front of her face, and she pulled a hood on the coat over her head. It was lined with some kind of soft and fuzzy fur, but very warm. Rumpelstiltskin, who had let go of her arm, was wearing a different leather and silk costume from earlier, but his narrow boots didn’t look warm, and the ragged fur cape draped over his shoulders wasn’t gathered before him. He must not feel the cold. The snow blowing in the breeze was sticking delicately to his curly hair.

                “This way,” he said, and Belle snapped out of her study of their clothes to look around her. They were halfway up a mountain, white giving way to dark green and brown far below them. The rest of the mountain loomed, white snow and black rock stretching up above them. Rumpelstiltskin was pointing towards a black area that was perhaps darker than the rest, and as they started walking, she realized it was a cave.

                The wide entrance was mostly clear of snow, and the slushy ice present was filled with recent footprints. They were all narrow, pointed boots, the same size. Rumpelstiltskin had been here often.

                “So, what’s in this cave?” she asked. He was facing the black interior with a harsh look.

                “Many things,” he replied, and stretched a hand out slowly. Belle gasped as a blue spark, like lightning, coalesced out of thin air, making his hand bounce back and producing a hissing sound, like meat burning. “That I cannot retrieve at the moment.” He slapped at the air again, reproducing the light and noise, and what looked like a painful sting. “It’s closed off to magic-users.” He nodded at her, smiling smugly with his discolored teeth. “Go on, hold your hand out.” Belle folded her arms tightly.

                “I don’t want to.”

                “I’m telling you to, dearie.” The smile was off his face, now. Belle, feeling horribly as though she was about to be killed, stretched her hand out, steeling herself. She’d expected to die by the end of today anyway, she reminded herself sternly. She traced her fingers in the same area his hand been, and was pleasantly surprised to feel only a slight warmth in the air, like a curtain.

                “Not so scary, eh?” Belle started to walk forward, only to have him drag her sharply back by the elbow. “Don’t do that.” Belle pulled her arm out of his grasp.

                “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

                “Hold your hands in the field and stay still.” Belle wiggled her fingers in the air, feeling them warm and cool as they passed through the odd barrier. Rumpelstiltskin moved next to her, toward the barrier, and was thrown back with a crackle. Belle jerked her fingers back, feeling singed.

                “Ow!” she exclaimed.

                “Hmm,” Rumpelstiltskin said, picking himself up from the icy dirt. “Interesting.” Belle squinted at her hands, which still tingled unpleasantly, but had no marks.

                “Did you know that was going to happen?” she asked. He tilted his head.

                “The lore says that a person without magic can enable a magic-user to enter.” Belle shifted on her feet.

                “Why don’t you tell me what to do and then I’ll just fetch whatever you’re looking for,” she suggested.

                “And have you run off with the treasures?” he sniffed. Belle spread her hands.

                “I already promised to do what you ask.” He didn’t reply, just flicked at the barrier again; Belle couldn’t believe it didn’t hurt him terribly. His mouth was set in an aggravated line.

                “I need to go in,” he said. “Here, we’re trying again. You hold my hand and lead me in.”

                His hand was warm and felt normal on the palm, though her fingers rested over rougher, scale-like skin. She put one foot through the barrier, and felt the moment Rumpelstiltskin touched it. Blue light flared around them, at her chest and legs and face, and she heard a hissing noise as her feet left the ground.

~

                Belle opened aching eyes to see tapestry-covered walls, and this time she knew where she was. She was lying propped up in a soft chair, with several blankets atop her; every limb of her body was aching, her head was aching, her eyes were aching closed or open. She turned her head to see a fire burning in the room, and a bed in the far corner. Her mouth was dry, and she wondered how much it would hurt to stand and look for water.

                But, maybe she wouldn’t have to. She was wrapped up in this chair, and she felt clean. It occurred to her that she was wearing a nightgown, not her dress. The idea was somewhat unsettling, but she would feel worse still covered in dust.

                “Rumpelstiltskin?” she asked aloud, quietly, and heard a door open behind her.

                “You’re awake. Good,” his sing-song voice sounded relieved. She didn’t hear footsteps, but she wasn’t surprised about that. He moved into her view, hands clasped behind his back. “No permanent damage, I don’t think.”

                “What happened?” she asked, and tried to clear her throat. He twiddled his fingers.

                “Well. The hand-holding didn’t work out so well. You were thrown backwards, as was I.” He tilted his head and gave her a wince and a smile. “You’re a little more delicate, it turns out.”

                “Everything hurts,” she said. “Didn’t it hurt you?”

                “There’s a distance between pain and damage, and in me, it’s considerable.” He moved closer, looking down at her. “Here, are you thirsty?”

                “Yes,” she said. To her surprise, he held the cup that was suddenly in his hands to her lips and tilted it gently, letting her swallow. Belle felt silly, being helped like a child, but she didn’t want to raise her arms or try to hold anything at the moment. “Thank you.”

                “Would hate to unbundle you,” he said, shrugging her thanks off easily. Then he paused, shoulders stiffening. “Er, I changed your clothes. With magic. I thought you’d feel better. It was—all magic.” Belle managed to smile a little at the sight of the demon she’d summoned, explaining that he hadn’t looked when she was undressed.

                “I do,” she said, relaxing into the blankets again. She was warm, and sleepy, and if she was asleep, she wouldn’t feel her body. Her eyes closed before she even saw Rumpelstiltskin leave the room.

~

                The next time Belle woke, she felt much refreshed: the pain was less, and she sat up, freeing a hand from within her blankets and taking the first layer off. The fire was still blazing in the room, and she was on the verge of turning sweaty in her nightgown. Her mouth was dry again: she struggled to her feet, keeping one of the soft blankets wrapped around her shoulders. The white nightgown she was wearing was warm, soft silk, but designed after the style of a young girl, with no sleeves and falling above her knees. Hardly modest enough to wear in the home of someone Belle didn’t know, demon or wizard or not.

                The room had little else besides the chair and the bed in the corner. There was a small plinth by the door, that likely had displayed something valuable, but now currently held a plate and cup. Belle walked over to it, finding a glass of water and on the plate, a soft brown biscuit and a sliced apple. She sipped the water, ate the apple slices, and started on the bread as she tried the door. It was unlocked, and opened with a small creak. Hitching the blanket more tightly around her shoulders in the face of the relative chill of the hallway, Belle stepped out, wishing for the warm boots and fuzzy coat she’d had earlier.

                This hallway was not the one she had appeared in when she first arrived here. Judging by what she’d seen so far, the Dark Castle was enormous. These walls were covered in tapestries as well, and the fine carpets underfoot were brighter and cleaner than the others. She didn’t want to call out for Rumpelstiltskin when she was perfectly capable of walking around, but she had a sneaking suspicion he was aware of where she was, and she wanted her clothes.

                “Excuse me!” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like my clothes back!” Nothing happened for a long moment, and then, with a somehow insouciant manner, her dress and blouse appeared neatly folded a few meters away. Belle snatched them up, finding her underthings folded between them, and retreated to the room.

                She climbed into the bed and drew the curtains around the posts before she undressed. She didn’t think he was watching her: he had practically stammered telling her he _hadn’t_ , but the knowledge that he knew where she was was disturbing. Her clothes were clean, empty of the dust and wax of the library and the dirt of the siege. Pressed to her nose, they smelled only like a sharp and unfamiliar soap. Belle tied the laces on her dress, trying to calm herself.

                Her friends and family were safe. Her people were safe. They had her father and Gaston to lead them now. And perhaps, when she had filled her obligations, Rumpelstiltskin would let her return.

                She snorted quietly to herself, crushing that hope. Her whole life couldn’t begin to make back the balance of their saved land. Rumpelstiltskin would be a fool to allow her to leave in her lifetime, no matter how useful he found her. It hardly mattered; the happy ending was secured, and she was out of that story now. She had this one to fill: sorcerer’s apprentice, or demon’s acolyte, or, realistically, wizard’s fetch-and-carry girl.

                She emerged from the curtains of the bed, pulling on her stockings. Her shoes had not been returned to her, nor the warm, soft boots she’d worn on the snowy mountain. Grabbing up the last of the bread and finishing the water, she headed into the hall again.

                In the past months, she’d become remarkably good at noting and remembering where things were, and the tapestries made excellent markers. One floor above was where she had woken up in the castle, and then it was easy to find the arched door once more, and the stairs down to the kitchen. She returned the cup and plate to a table, pausing. The food and water had made her feel better, and she wanted to have a look around the castle.

                “It’s not like I’m his prisoner,” she rationalized, leaving the kitchen from the end opposite the one she’d come in through. “I wasn’t locked up.” This made her feel less hunted, though she reminded herself that he could and clearly would be willing to come out of thin air. “Not really any way to prepare for that anyway.”

                Belle pushed open another door and fell quiet, her soft muttering dying on her lips. This hall was greater in size than the war room at home, and mostly empty. A long table with a single chair stood at one end, and a spinning wheel and stool at the other. The walls in here were lined with tapestries as well, but all of them bright and in perfect condition, and interspersed with glass-fronted and open cabinets. The one immediately to her right held a pale, opaque green orb, a folded map painted with vibrant color, a brass instrument of some kind, and a silver locket, all on the lowest shelf. The other shelves were filled as well, and stands and plinths around the border of the room.

                “Feeling better?” Belle whirled, fingers on the cabinet door. Rumpelstiltskin was standing behind her, fingers pressed together, looking pleased. She folded her arms.

                “I’d like my shoes and maybe a cloak,” she said. “It can be frightening when you come up behind people, by the way.” He gave her a flat look.

                “Oh, I know, dearie.” He turned and gestured for her. “Follow me.” Belle followed, glad he stuck to his casual stroll: he was hardly taller than her, but he took long strides, and she was still hurting.

                They went back up a set of stairs she remembered, then down a new hallway, then up new stairs. Rumpelstiltskin paused in front of a set of double doors, which swung open before him. Belle blinked to see a well-lit library inside. A truly impressive collection of books, scrolls, and loose parchment was strewn over a large table, centered around a tall candelabra and ink bottle. She entered the room, Rumpelstiltskin lurking behind her.

                “This is amazing,” she said, glancing around at the shelves. They were packed full with books, many clearly ancient. Scrolls were piled neatly on the topmost shelves. “This is the biggest collection I’ve ever seen.” Rumpelstiltskin tsked behind her.

                “Don’t get distracted, dearie. You’re here to work.” He pointed to the table. Belle blinked at a large stack of notes next to an inkwell, some of them barely dried. “Catch up, then you can help me.” She picked up the first sheet, blanching at his small, spidery writing. “I did remember correctly when you summoned me on your way from similar research?” Pride stung, Belle sat down firmly in a chair and grabbed the entire sheaf of his notes.

                Three hours later, Belle had finished his notes and her head was aching. Rumpelstiltskin was bent silently over a heavy, handwritten grimoire, occasionally scratching more notes down. Her mind buzzed with everything she had just read: the mysterious cave, tested by many sorcerers. There were several references to someone without magic being able to lead or carry a magician through. The reports of treasures within were wildly varying and no doubt unreliable, but Belle imagined there would be at least a few things a collector like Rumpelstiltskin could want.

                She set his papers down with a sigh, and he looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow.

                “Tired, dearie?” She gave him a pointed look.

                “I came from a siege, had to walk around a mountain, and was knocked out. I am tired.”

                “Hmm. Well. Go to bed, then. I’ll give you something to do tomorrow, keep you busy until I solve this problem.” Belle was too tired already to be annoyed by his dismissal, but simply went back to her room, brushing aside his concerns about finding it.

                The room was warm, as she had left it, but the logs in the fire were scarcely consumed since she had walked out. She watched as sparks flew up as one shifted. Perhaps things were frozen within the rooms when no one walked in?

                “It _is_ a good way to avoid wasting wood,” she admitted to herself, and blinked to find water, wine, cold beef, and bread on the plinth where her plate had been earlier. Where did he get the food, if not from his lamentable pantry? Belle decided that magical or not, she had better eat something. She wasn’t hungry, but that was another war lesson: no one ever wanted to eat. She ate as much as she could, and even finished the wine. It was sweet, and, she suspected, meant to help her sleep.

                She managed to get into her nightgown, move the chair blankets to the bed, and burrow under all of them. The fire abruptly died down to a dull gleam, and it was so sudden and artificial that Belle, on the verge of sleep, started and woke up. Heart pounding, she watched the flames grow again. How strange. The room responded to her presence, did it also respond to her wants? A large fire would make her too warm under the blankets. As she reflected, the blaze sank down considerably; almost certain, she _thought_ very intensely at it, to grow. It did at once.

                “Amazing,” she murmured. “All right, go back to being small.” The fire complied.

                She dropped to sleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

~

                It took two weeks for Belle to feel back to normal, and she wasn’t sure she knew what ‘normal’ was for her anymore. There were no mirrors in the castle, but when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in something else, the dark circles under her eyes were gone for the first time in months. Rumpelstiltskin left her in the library to studying his books, and after the first days, when she was still sore, she made progress quickly. He was gone often: on what he referred to cryptically as ‘business’ or ‘deals,’ or somewhere else in the Dark Castle, working on other projects, which he never disclosed to her.

                The lore of the cave was extensive, and yet not very helpful. Only the pure could enter, but they could permit the wicked to enter as well, if they helped. It was a storehouse of great value, but the only sources that described treasure or magic were newer, lesser sources. Rumpelstiltskin, when asked, didn’t say what he hoped to find. She occupied herself with the lore, trying not to think of home.

                After the first four days, she was certain he wasn’t a demon, whatever the lore about _him_ said. He was simply a very odd looking man; perhaps his use of magic had altered his appearance. There were mentions of him in some of his own books, some of which were very old. He had been around for centuries, but most of those books referred to him as a sorcerer or wizard. The taboo around his name seemed to hold, though.

                “Why are people afraid to say your name?” she asked him one day, sipping on a cup of tea. He had acquiesced with a blink when she asked him for a kettle and teapot in the kitchen, and even drank some himself.

                “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something useful?” he snapped, flicking at her papers. Belle flattened her lips into a line. She had a suspicion he wasn’t as evil or cruel as he liked to pretend, but she also didn’t want to push too hard and have his patience wear out.

                “I was just wondering,” she said placidly, looking at him. It unsettled him when she looked him in the eye for any length of time. Accordingly, he looked away from her and caved.

                “Names have power, dearie,” he said. “And I have excellent hearing.” Belle considered this. She hadn’t tried to summon him, just said his name, once, under her breath.

                “Is that why you won’t say mine?” she asked. He looked sly for a second, then smiled a sharp smile at her.

                “I don’t actually know your name,” he said, twirling his fingers and shrugging. Belle gaped at him, turning red. She racked her memory of their first meeting: she had never said her name. And he had never asked, for some reason. Likely, he didn’t want to be embarrassed about not knowing, but she was too busy cooking in her own mortification to consider his.

                “Sorry,” she choked out. “My name is Belle. Belle.” He nodded, bending back over his papers.

                “Good to know, dearie.”

~

                A week after that, Belle thought she had an idea about getting into the cave. She was almost certain that he wouldn’t like it, though.

                “How is the barrier constructed?” she asked, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. Rumpelstiltskin fidgeted; he spun at night, and she was sure his restless hands had infected hers. “Is it only in the space you can’t pass? Does it touch the walls or the floor or the ceiling of the cave?”

                “Not sure, not sure, yes,” he said. He was not working on the cave problem tonight, but spinning in the library instead while she studied. The sight of the golden wire coming off the wheel was mesmerizing, and Belle wondered if it was soft like thread, as it seemed to be.

                “So many of these references speak about carrying through,” she said tentatively. “If the floor feels your magic, I think…I think I may have to literally carry you.” The wheel stopped. Rumpelstiltskin turned around on his stool, winding some of the thread around his fingers. His face was blank, closed off to her.

                “I don’t think you could lift me,” he said finally. Belle bit her lip. No, he didn’t like the idea.

                He did bring it up a week later, though, and she felt extremely satisfied that he had realized she was likely right.

                “You could get hurt again if you try to bring me through,” he said. Belle fought back a smile.

                “Does this mean you’ve accepted my idea?” she asked. He narrowed his eyes.

                “Of course not!” he snapped. “I still don’t think you can lift me, anyway.” Belle stood up from her seat at the library table. Sometimes, when she talked to him too much, Rumpelstiltskin would snap his fingers, pettily, and banish her to dust his displays. That and lifting books and walking around the Dark Castle had kept her as strong as she ever had been.

                “Want to try?” she asked. He stared at her, eyes wide. She wiggled her fingers at him. “Come on.”

                “I don’t think so, dearie,” he said. Belle stepped up close to him.

                “Come on, I want to try.” He stepped back from her as she stretched her hands out. “You just might as well have admitted we’re going to have to try.” He folded his arms in front of him. “Do you want to get into that cave or not?” He muttered something under his breath that Belle couldn’t understand, and she studied him. He might be right: she was strong, but small, and he was more wiry than actually skinny, and covered in heavy clothes. “Actually, sit on the table. You might have to wrap your legs around me.”

                Rumpelstiltskin looked horrified at this suggestion. Belle patted the table.

                “There’s no table in that cave,” he said, voice high and nasal. She looked at him from under hooded eyes. He was most certainly stalling.

                “You could easily bring a stool. Or you could just climb onto my back.” He breathed out noisily, through his nose, and didn’t move. “We’ll have the treasure by the end of the day, most likely, if you would just see if I can lift you.” That seemed to move him, and he sat down on the table, dangling legs crossed neatly at the ankle. Belle thought it would be easiest to carry him on her back, and stepped up close to him. There was still a problem.

                “Rumpelstiltskin,” she said gently. “You are going to have to let me stand between your legs.” He clenched his jaw tightly, and Belle understood his reluctance in a sudden flash of insight. “Come on,” she said, trying to sound light. “I won’t take it the wrong way. All expediency.” He shifted on the table, spreading his legs apart and scooting to the edge, and now that the thought was in her head, Belle was blushing.

                She turned her back to hide it, licking her lips quickly, and stepped backward, so she was against the table. A cautious hand touched her shoulder, and she put her hands to either side, bending her knees a little: the table was a little lower than her hips.

                “I don’t want to break your back, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly from behind her. “But I’m going to have to push on your shoulders to balance.”

                Belle had given plenty of children piggyback rides around the keep, before the war. She would just need to grab his thighs as he jumped up. The thought made her blush more. If he hadn’t acted so strangely about it, she would likely have been perfectly fine up until the point where he was actually on top of her.

                “I’m ready,” she said, trying to derail her train of thought. He shifted behind her, and then she had a strong hand gripping her shoulder and his boots digging into the sides of her legs. He was really less heavy than she had expected.

                “This works fine!” she said, pleased.

                “I’m still bearing weight on the table,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I’m about to lean forward and take my weight off my hand. You might want to bend your knees.” He took his hand off her shoulder and wrapped it cautiously around the front of her, gripping her other shoulder from the front. The result was that his weight was pulling her back less, and the entire front of his body was crushed to her back.

                “I will, if you let me hold you up by your legs instead of crushing me with them.” She grabbed his legs as tightly as she could, wondering why he had to wear such slippery leather. Accordingly, he loosened the crushing grip he had on her hips as he pushed off from the table.

                “That feels more like what I imagined you to weigh,” she gasped. He was holding himself very rigid and still, which helped. “Let’s see if I can step forward.” Belle took a staggering step, then another.

                “Let go of me,” Rumpestiltskin said, and she loosened her hands. He slithered off with a rustle of leather, and Belle stretched her back out. She brushed her hands together.

                “Well, we can do it,” she said cheerfully. Rumpelstiltskin tugged at his coat, and she adjusted her dress, just in case. “And if that doesn’t work at the cave, I will have to go in alone.”

                “ _I’m_ going in,” he snapped, leaving his clothes alone. “And I guess we better get on with it.” He snapped his fingers, and Belle sighed to see her fuzzy coat and boots resting next to the table. She pulled both of them on, looking up to see that he had traded his leather coat for the ragged fur cloak again.

                “I did say I could hold you,” she said, letting herself give him a small smirk. He sniffed and took her arm.

~

                The mountain was as snowy as ever, though it was late spring in her homeland and at the Dark Castle. Belle huddled into the hood of her coat as they trekked up the slope. The wind was much worse today, whipping rather than gently moving the snow about. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t seem to mind it, and she kept hanging onto his arm, not wanting to slip and fall.

                The cave was just as cold, and Belle stamped her feet, wishing for gloves. Rumpelstiltskin stepped behind her, and a few bits of ice fell off his hair and onto her shoulders. She held her arms out and he put his hands on her shoulders.

                This time was much more sudden, with no table for him to start from, and she nearly slipped on the slushy floor, but Rumpelstiltskin threw his weight forward and flung out one hand to brace against the wall. This time, she was glad for the strength of his thighs holding him up around her waist.

                “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Okay, let’s try this.” She went forward two pages, feeling the edge of his cloak swing against her legs. She pushed down the fear of being thrown backward again, and stepped forward.

                The sound of the wind outside faded to nothing as the warmth of the barrier slid over her. The other side was lit by an unnatural looking blue-white torch. Belle grinned.

                “We did it,” she cried, letting go of Rumpelstiltskin’s legs, only to have him keep gripping her shoulders with his hands as his legs slid off her. Then, he was stumbling, putting his full weight on her, and she tumbled to the ground, catching herself on her hands as he fell on top of her.

                “Oh no,” she heard him say, voice deeper than she remembered it being before. Ignoring her cold, scratched hands, Belle turned over as she felt him lift himself off her. “Oh no no no.” The light was very good, but she could see that he looked much changed. His green-gold skin, rough and reptilian, had been replaced with ordinary flesh, light brown and pink, and his curly, stiff hair with its undefinable color was straight and brown, a good amount of grey mixed in. Belle scrambled backward, not sure if it was still Rumpelstiltskin lying there, staring frozen down at his hand.

                “Rumpelstiltskin?” she asked. He looked up, hair falling into his eyes, but not so much that she couldn’t tell that they were a soft dark brown, with wide pupils, not the streaky green she knew. “Is that you?” He dropped his gaze again, bowing his head down.

                “Yes,” he said. He pushed himself into a sitting position, but didn’t stand. His new eyes looked wide and afraid.

                “Is this something to do with your magic?” Belle guessed. He squeezed his eyes shut and she saw his fists clench in his cloak.

                “I can’t use it in here,” he said. He looked at his hands again. “It’s gone.” His hands were shaking.

                “So this is what you really look like?” she asked. At least she was right about his not being a demon. He huffed out a breath, which hung in the air, white and ominous.

                “What I used to look like.” Belle absorbed this, then stood and turned in a circle, looking around the room. The rough cave walls had been smoothed flat, and there was no sign of the entrance to the cave.

                “What do you think of this?” she asked, waving her hand in the place where they should have entered, and was now empty air with more room behind. Nothing, not even a warm area. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t say anything, and she looked down to see him still kneeling on the floor, staring at his shaking hands. She crouched next to him, hesitantly taking his hands. “Are you okay?” He looked at her, eyes still wide. His face was more expressive like this, and he was frightened.

                “It’s cold,” he said finally, and tugged his cloak around his shoulders, pulling the hood up over his hair. Belle nodded.

                “Going through took all your power away?” she asked.

                “It seems so,” he said. Belle nodded again, not sure of what to say.

                “I’m going to look around and see if there’s a way out of this room. Do you want to help?” He turned his head away, not saying anything for a long moment. Belle stood and started to move towards the walls.

                “Belle,” he said. She stopped and turned at his words. “I need you to help me stand.” She frowned, feeling a chill inside at the absolute shame and bitterness and defeat that colored his flat voice. She walked back to him, holding her hand down. Rumpelstiltskin took it and raised his left leg, gripping her hand as he stood. His right leg seemed hardly able to bear any weight at all, since he switched to holding her shoulder for balance. Belle thought his showy boots could hardly be the easiest to walk in either, especially chilled by the cave temperature and shocked by his sudden weakness.

                “Here,” she said, and drew his arm all the way over her shoulder, so they were side by side. “This is better, and warmer.” They walked together to the sides of the cave: the room was irregularly shaped, but generally elliptical.

                “Look,” Rumpelstiltskin said, just as Belle spotted something different about a section of the wall. She reached her hand out to the carvings on the stone, and when her fingers touched them, they shone a bright gold.

                “Writing,” she said. The script was in Old Qunye, a language she could read some formal religious poetry in, but nothing more. “I don’t know this.”

                “Fortunately, I do,” Rumpelstiltskin said, and Belle was relieved to hear a touch of his familiar self-assurance back in his voice. “It’s tricky.” He tilted his head. “Mmm… ‘My single eye does not see. My single touch will heal and bleed.’” Belle rapped her knuckles on the stone, to no result.

                “A riddle?” she asked. “Or a reference to some treasure?” Rumpelstiltskin gestured with his free hand.

                “I don’t see piles of treasure, do you?”

                “Well, no.”

                “Riddles, then, I think.” He was starting to sound slightly annoyed, and his hand on her shoulder tightened. Belle checked the empty room, for some reason, but there was nowhere to sit. She focused on the riddle.

                “Single eye…one eye…what has one eye?” No animal she knew. A few myths, none of which fit the second part of the rhyme. Next to her, Rumpelstiltskin suddenly let out a short huff of breath, and reached out to touch the wall under the glowing letters. His finger left a golden mark.

                “Well, what do you think?” he asked her. Belle turned to look at him, and saw his brown eyes dancing and smug with delight. He had figured it out. “Any ideas?”

                “No,” she admitted, upset with herself. What kind of tactician and scholar was she, then?

                “A needle,” he said, and moved his finger over the wall, spelling the word out in the same script. It glowed, along with the riddle, and then the words melted into a beautiful dripping mess over the stone. As the golden paint or magic flowed to the floor, that section of the wall suddenly disappeared, and an opening into another room beyond was visible.

                “Yes?” Belle asked, and he nodded, walking beside her through the passage. This room was smaller, with a cold blue torch mounted on the wall that appeared behind them. “Is it colder in here?”

                “I believe so,” Rumpelstiltskin said. Belle eyed him, worriedly. He looked even skinnier as an ordinary man that he had as a scaled wizard, and he was huddled inside a heavy cloak. She took his right hand and covered it with hers: both were ice cold. Perhaps they could at least warm their hands. “Let’s find this riddle.”

                The walls of this room were in shadow, and as they went forward, they could see why. A moat of water surrounded them, but for the wall behind them. The only other place to stand was across it, and there was no hint of puzzle on their side.

                “The challenge is to get to the other side,” Belle said. “I wonder how cold and deep it is. It’s not frozen.” She left Rumpelstiltskin to stand alone for a moment and dipped the very tip of her little finger in. “Ouch!” She leapt back, sucking her finger into her mouth. “Very cold,” she reported, around her finger.

                “Are you hurt?” he asked. She shook her head, observing her finger. The very tip of her flesh was wrinkled and cold to the touch, but not painful.

                “I think if we went in the water, we would die,” she said.

                “I don’t like that plan,” Rumpelstiltskin said, his voice sharp as ever for a moment. Belle turned to smile at him.

                “Me neither.” Without his black teeth and with the sneer fading, his smile was actually pleasant and warm. It made Belle feel a little better. She gave his hand a squeeze, and after a long moment, he squeezed back.

                After staring at the water for a while, Belle wasn’t sure what to do or say.

                “We can’t build a bridge,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “We have nothing.”

                “There would be no point to an impossible challenge,” Belle said. She turned in a slow circle once more, then again. The water was dark and still, and the other side visible as an edge, straight ahead. The shadows beyond the water were deep, and hers and Rumpelstiltskin’s stretched out to join them. She turned around again, something bothering her deep in her mind. Rumpelstiltskin grabbed her when she stopped, and she felt guilty for leaving him to try and balance. She was missing something.

                “That last riddle was about symbolism,” she said. “What if this is, too?” She turned them back again, and stopped in front of the cold blue-white torch. Rumpelstiltskin gave her a curious look as she lifted it out of its bracket. “Fire and water.”

                Kneeling in front of the moat, fingers curled back from the edge, was more nerve-wracking than stepping into the first room with Rumpelstiltskin clinging to her back. Belle dipped the torch down close to the water, and watched it curl away from the flame. A little further, and the water retreated more. She edged backwards, standing up and holding the torch high in triumph. Rumpelstiltskin, leaning against the wall, gave her a weak smile.

                The moat waters swirled back from the torch, never splashing, moving in one sinuous body. Belle found it creepy, and sweated and shivered their way across the moat—only a foot deep, but the worst crossing she’d ever made. Rumpelstiltskin was shivering and unsteady next to her, as well, and she was terrified he would slip in his treadless boots and fall into the water. The cold stone of the other side felt almost welcoming as they climbed out.

                Overcome and shaking, Belle turned and hugged Rumpelstiltskin, pushing her face into his shoulder. She felt him put his arms around her cautiously and pat her back. It was somewhat ruined by his shivering, and she was on the verge of uncontrollable trembling as well, the way she’d sweated through the crossing. But it was a nice hug, and when they moved back into their positions, she stuck her left hand around his waist, under the warmth of his cloak.

                There was an arched opening a few feet from the edge of the water. No doubt there was another puzzle on the other side. But they had no choice but to go through. As they stepped forward, Belle turned to watch the doorway shimmer and disappear, along with the room of water.

                “How many of these do you think we have to do?” she asked. The fear of the last room had left her exhausted. “And I think it’s colder.”

                “I don’t know, this wasn’t in anything I read.” Rumpestiltskin sounded tired. In the light of the torch that she still carried, his eyes were shadowed and his face looked downright gaunt. “Let’s see about this one.”

                This room had two empty doorways in front of them.

                “A choice,” Rumpelstiltskin said dryly. “At least we have one now.” The wall between the openings had more writing, and Belle touched it. It gleamed the same way the first riddle had. Old Qunye, again.

                “I wonder what you do if you don’t understand the writing,” Belle said. They hadn’t seen a single bone in the caves. Rumpelstiltskin was moving his lips silently, brow furrowed.

                “Birth and Death,” he said finally. Belle waited, but he said nothing further.

                “What do you mean?” she pressed at last. He wrinkled his nose.

                “That’s all that’s written,” he said, waving at the writing. “Two words.”

                “Well, we can figure it out.” Belle wanted to turn in a circle to look around at the room, but Rumpelstiltskin was less steady on his feet than ever. “Are the doors labeled?” But there was nothing, not a single carving or mark by the doors. They stood looking at the two black spaces. Belle waved the torch near them, but nothing penetrated the inky darkness.

                “I used to translate riddles and poems when I was learning languages, and we played guessing games outside,” Belle said. “I think I should be doing better.”

                “You got the last one,” he said, voice almost comforting.

                “But not the first one,” she said. “That was you.”

                “Well,” he snorted, with a touch of self-deprecation in his tone, “I have to earn my keep, don’t I? And I know a great deal about needles and thread. I am a spinner, after all.”

                “I think you’d need to be a philosopher to solve this one!” she exclaimed. “How are you supposed to know which door is which, and beyond that, which one is the right answer? There’s not even a question!”

                “Maybe that’s the point,” he said nastily. “Sounds like something a philosopher would say.”

                “Hmm, well you could write that on the wall,” she replied. But when he went to test his finger on the wall, no glowing marks appeared. He hissed in annoyance. “Well, now we know that it’s not a written answer, for sure.”

                “Are you always so cheerful?” he said, and Belle felt a shiver go through him.

                “I’m really not,” she said, and pulled him closer against her. “But I’d rather laugh than cry, now.” She looked at the gleaming words, swimming against the dull white-grey of the cave walls, through the collected crystallized haze of their breath. “Birth and death. Neither sounds like a good time.” Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head.

                “Take a third option,” he said lightly. Belle bit her lip.

                “Can we?” She looked at the space between the two doors. There was plenty of room for another archway. “What if we just walked forward? What is between birth and death but life?”

                “The worst that would happen is we would get bruised noses,” he said. Belle smiled.

                “And the best is we pass through!”

                There was really no question. Belle thought she was getting good at walking into things that could harm her, and instead of cold, unyielding stone, they stepped through the wall, which didn’t seem to be solid at all.

                “I hate that I’m getting used to this,” she complained, shivering in the cold of yet another room lit by blue torches. Rumpelstiltskin shook violently next to her.

                “Do you need a break?” Belle asked, trying to avoid sounding pitying. But she could feel his bad leg trembling against her side, and though he was trying to avoid weighing her down, his grip on her shoulders was tight. He grimaced at the question.

                “Perhaps,” he said grudgingly.

                “Good, me too,” Belle said quickly. It was only half true, but she could go ahead and soothe his pride. He turned to give her a look, as though he knew what she was doing, but didn’t challenge her.

                The floor of the cave was icy cold, and they ended up on top of Rumpelstiltskin’s cloak, with the rest of it folded over him. Belle huddled close to him, wrapping her arms around his back, and burying her face in his neck. He put his cold hands on her back as well, under her coat, and they tangled their legs together. Belle wiggled her toes: they were threatening to become numb, even inside her warm boots.

                “Can you feel your toes?” she asked, voice muffled against his chest. “Your boots look cold.”

                “Not so much,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.” His body vibrated with what must be laughter. “My magic will return when we leave here, and take care of any frostbite.”

                “That could be a while,” Belle said worriedly. She was exhausted and cold, but they couldn’t lie still for long. Nor could they keep going without a rest.

                “Perhaps,” he said, and she felt his hand rub up and down her back, soothing. She pressed herself up close to him, for the most warmth, and tried to ignore that she was, once again, practically between his legs today. She didn’t have enough warmth in her body to blush, now. This close, she could feel how bony and thin he really was under his fine clothes.

                “I don’t want to die here,” she said, quietly. “I’ve been telling myself that it doesn’t matter at all if I die, because I already did what I could, and succeeded. But I don’t want to die.” She could feel tears building in her chest and throat, absurdly.

                “We won’t die,” he said. “You’re just cold and tired. You’ve solved more riddles than me.”

                “You know, I tried very hard to make good strategies, but we were still losing the war. Two of my best friends died, and I could do nothing. I had no magic, no real skills. No contribution but to accidentally call you in to save us.”

                “Your strategies may not have won the war, but they must have won some battles, or saved some lives. That makes them successful.” Rumpelstiltskin let out a shivery sigh, voice drowsy. “To save one life is to be successful. And then you saved them all.” Belle tried to let that console her a little, wiggling her cold toes. Rumpelstiltskin was shaking a little less, beside her.

                “I didn’t do anything though,” she said eventually, but all she got in return was a vague ‘hmm’ from Rumpelstiltskin. She poked him in the thigh, suddenly afraid. “Rumpelstiltskin!” she said. “Wake up.” Another ‘hmm.’ “No no no,” she said, scrambling unsteadily to her feet. To pull away from their shared warmth was painful, but she put her hands on his shoulders and shook him.

                “Wake up!” she cried, and his eyes fluttered open. “Come on, stand up.” He stared at her, eyes heavy and drifting closed. “Never mind, stay there. I’ll get you when I’ve solved this room.” She wrapped him in his cloak as best as she could and inspected the room, shoving her cold hands into her armpits as she did.

                Hopefully this wouldn’t be a riddle written in a language she didn’t know. This room was devoid of doors, like the first one, and there was a plinth or column in the center, rising out of the floor. Carved into the top was a grid: three by three, and a stone resting on each square in the grid. Each stone had small round divets carved into the top: anywhere from one to nine.

                A puzzle, not a riddle. Belle was glad. They were arranged from one to nine, descending, from right to left. She bit her lip and started moving them around. A spiral starting from one, then starting from nine. No luck. She remembered, with a stab of regret, burying herself in languages and stories while Rochelle played with number puzzles.

                “It can’t be that hard,” she said, glancing over to where Rumpelstiltskin was curled on the ground. Why he had fallen so weak so fast was not clear to her, but she guessed it must be due to his magic being taken away so suddenly. She made another pattern with the stones, wondering if she could stumble onto the answer without intent. Would they still be allowed to pass through? Would someone angrily kicking the wall in the other room come through? “I’ll just think hard about every pattern,” she said.

                The stones were icy under her fingers, and she organized them in several different configurations, alternating high and low numbers. Still nothing.

                “It’s fine,” she murmured to herself, blowing on her freezing fingers, to no more effect than moving the stones. “I can do it.” There must be something fundamental about this. She moved the nine and one stones next to each other. That made ten. The three by three must mean something. Another glance over at Rumpelstiltskin showed her he hadn’t moved.

                “Wait, here!” she cried, and clenched her fists. Yes, that must be correct. It was the most consistent. Every row and column and diagonal could be summed to the same number. “Sixteen? Fifteen?” Fifteen must be right.

                It took her more than five minutes to arrange the stones with her fumbling hands, but when they were correct, the column started glowing the same gold she was now used to. Belle dashed back to Rumpelstiltskin, grabbed the front of his shirt, and jerked him upright.

                “Get up!” she screamed. “Come on, please!” The yell made him open his eyes. Belle pulled his right arm roughly over her shoulder and dragged him to his feet. He was trying to help her, but she was bearing most of his weight, and she half-dragged him to the column. The column seemed to be melting away, leaving a spiral ramp in the floor. “Oh, perfect.” She couldn’t believe they had to go _down_ \--Rumpelstiltskin could barely stand, and was shivering so badly he was in danger of knocking her over.

                “It’s okay,” she told him. “Just try and stay upright, please. You can do it.” His eyes were closed, and he mumbled something incomprehensible through blue lips. “Oh, lying down was a bad idea.” Her own body was freezing and stiff, but three weeks of good food and rest had made her strong. The man that Rumpelstiltskin was under his magic was underfed and unsteady: stopping to rest had only primed his body to succumb to cold and exhaustion.

                This new room was, if it could be believed, even colder. Belle could feel her throat and nostrils turn raw after a few breaths, and her eyes stung in the still air. The blue torches ringed the entire room, making it bright, but not warm. The spiral ramp melded into the smooth floor, which was carved in patterns of crossing, sinuous lines. The room was otherwise empty. The center was ringed with a deep, perfectly circular groove. None of the lines came inside the circle. Belle stepped outside, placing her foot on one of the lines, and it flared with golden light, which flowed down the line, into the others, splitting and dividing before fading away.

                She tapped her foot twice in quick succession on two different lines; the pattern of golden light was quite different, but nothing happened. It seemed she would have to walk around the lines until some correct pattern was found. And there were no writings to show her the way.

                “Okay,” she croaked. This would be impossible with Rumpelstiltskin leaning on her, when he could barely move. But setting him down on the cold floor for too long seemed a bad idea. She guided him to sit down, tucking the cloak under him and trying to let as small an area of the floor as possible touch him.

                “Belle.” She froze and turned to him, uncertain if she had heard correctly.

                “Yes?” she said quickly. He blinked at her, and she was glad for the amount of torches: the light seemed to be waking him up.

                “Sorry,” he whispered, face distraught. She wasn’t sure what to do with this, but caught his cold cheek in her cold hand for a moment.

                “It’s fine,” she said. “Just stay warm.”

                At least when she was walking over the lines, trying out different patterns, she was moving. If she was moving, she wasn’t freezing to death. She made standing waves, and thought that was the answer, but nothing changed. She made them follow each other in patterns, a headache from concentrating building behind her eyes. It was like troop movements, she told herself, and kept working. The grind of being tired and distressed and worried was familiar, and she didn’t like it, but she could deal with it.

                Belle walked back to check on Rumpelstiltskin several times, as her attempts to discover the secrets of the room failed again and again. He was cold to the touch, and always asleep when she went to jostle him awake. His lips were blue, and his fingers felt like ice, and his eyes never focused properly.

                It made her heart clench and thud horribly, and she thought that if this fear for a friend was how a battlefield felt, she hated it as much as she hated waiting behind. She tried making all the golden glow go outward, but if that were possible, you would need two people, and Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t moving.

                There must be an infinite number of ways to send the light through the lines, and Belle didn’t have time to try them all. She stalked to the edge of the room, ignoring the flares of light that struck off her shoes and slid over the floor, and pressed her hands to the wall, searching for something else.

                “Oh, come on,” she whispered, yanking one of the torches out of its bracket. It went dark immediately, and the two lines beneath her feet, in front of this section of the wall, stopped sending out light. Belle quickly tapped the line to the side, and sure enough, the light propagated out, but would not cross into the darkened lines in front of her.

                “Two hours in, I learn something new about this?” she wailed. Her toes were numb, her fingers had barely managed to grip the torch, and the end of her nose was painful. “Foolish!” she berated herself. She walked a circuit of the room, watching the patterns in the floor. They rotated around the broken link, now. She removed another torch from the other side and returned to the center of the ring. Rumpelstiltskin was still breathing, but barely blinked when she yelled.

                “Oh, please wake up and tell me how to fix this,” she whispered, discouraged. “I still don’t want to die. And I don’t want you to die.” If she cried, the tears would freeze on her face and probably burn her skin, so she didn’t allow it, and straightened up once more. The spiral ramp in the center of the room was her only clue: so far, no kind of spiral she’d constructed had been good enough, but now she had a different kind of control.

                She could set up a perpetuated spiral, opposite the direction of the ramp (or in the same direction, if this didn’t work) by walking in one direction, removing and replacing torches in succession. The light would travel in the opposite direction she did.

                On her first try, Belle dropped the fourth torch, hands stiff. She had hiked through snowy places when she was younger, and worked with things smaller than torches. She had no choice but to do this. With the same ragged desperation she used to use to stay awake for days on end during attacks, she started again, and messed up on the twelfth torch. There were thirty, and she thought she needed to make a complete circle before she could be done. It was the kind of symmetry that felt correct about this place.

                “Those were just practice,” she muttered, taking a deep breath through her nose and feeling warm liquid bubble inside. A touch let her know she was bleeding, no doubt from the harsh air. Belle avoided the sudden urge to bite her lips, lest they bleed and then freeze. Now she knew the timing of her steps and the speed of the lines of light. It would be a dance, switching partners rapidly, in the bitter cold, but she could dance. There had been no call for dancing in a long time, but she chanted the words to a song that the village children used to skip ropes to. Rhythm.

                This time, she didn’t make a mistake, and it was with deep relief that she held the torch of the final darkened area over her head and watched light spill behind her. When it came around again, it was a matter of jumping up and setting the torch back in for a moment, then jerking it out again as the light passed and she landed. The wave passed on by, unbothered by some small miracle of timing, and Belle rose onto her tiptoes, stepped around all the lines, set the final torch back into the bracket, and picked her way back to the center.

                She knelt down next to Rumpelstiltskin and allowed herself a second to admire her work: a true symmetrical standing wave. He was still and cold, heart beating fast when she touched his neck for his pulse.

                “I hope that’s right,” she said. “I don’t have any more ideas.”

                The wave was slowing, reflecting swirls off the ramp as the golden glow converged on the ring surrounding her and Rumpelstiltskin. Belle hoped that was a good sign, and clutched Rumpelstiltskin close to her, trying to get ready to stand.

                The torches flared up as the golden light finally spilled into the ring around them, dissipating from the rest of the lines. Then it flowed out evenly, back into the lines on the floor and inward, onto the part of the floor they were huddling on. It washed up the spiral ramp, turning the whole thing a glowing gold. Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes fluttered open for a moment under the glow, and Belle took that moment to heave to her feet, clutching both his arms over her shoulders so that he was on her back.

                The cave started shaking, and Belle lost her footing in the tremors as the roof of the cave—where they had just come through—melted back like ice under boiling water, exposing the night sky, stars burning through shredded clouds. If she hadn’t been collapsed already, Belle’s knees would have failed her at the sight. The ramp was melting away as well, and though snow was falling down on them, it was the ordinary cold of snow, no longer the unnatural, sucking chill of the caves.

                Rumpelstiltskin still wasn’t moving, and all around them was more snow and mountains. The last of the blue torches were disappearing as the walls faded into the snow. At their feet, the stone floor was rapidly becoming piled with snow. Where the ramp had ended, something silver gleamed darkly. Belle fumbled for it with her stiff hands and picked up a wavy dagger, full of unease. Both sides were chased at the tip and near the hilt with designs that were beautiful yet frightening, and the middle section was smooth and blank, as though unfinished.

                This was the treasure? She stuck it inside her coat, anger and frustration giving her a brief false warmth. That was what they had nearly died for. Her arms were too tired to lift Rumpelstiltskin onto her back again, so she had to kick through the piling snow, more or less dragging him. He was as ordinary as ever, though the caves had let them go.

                They needed shelter. These mountains must have ordinary caves. If she could rest, and warm up, they might survive. Her hands could barely grip Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulders any longer; she had lost her ability to bend her fingers, and was restricted to hooking her wrists and elbows around him.

                “Oh, come on,” she sobbed, as she lost her balance in the snow again. If she could just keep them moving—if they were moving, they weren’t freezing to death. She dragged Rumpelstiltskin another few meters, on her knees in the snow. His eyelashes were covered in snow, and his skin was so cold that the snow wasn’t melting on his face either.

                If they were moving, they weren’t freezing to death.

                Belle collapsed again, and managed to get onto her knees. Standing wasn’t possible anymore.

                If they were moving, they weren’t freezing to death.

                If they were moving…

~

                Belle had a dim feeling of being lifted up.

~

                She was cold. There was warmth around her, edging her skin, but not penetrating to her bones. And her fingers—her fingers and feet were burning at the edges of her perception. She couldn’t feel anything except that faint pain, and the warmth and cold.

                The next thing was a feeling of liquid, and that there was something across her face. She could feel the laces of her dress digging into her sides, and realized someone was holding her upright and drawing something hot over her face. Her head ached, and there was a stabbing pain in her nose and sinuses. The hot thing on her face made it feel a little better.

                Belle wasn’t certain how long she had been asleep, or if she was even awake now. She was in a tub, full of steaming water, and thought she had been for a while. A warm, wet cloth was laid over her face, leaving her mouth and nostrils uncovered. She was still cold, somehow. She managed to make a groaning sound, and the cloth on her face was moved away. Her eyelids wouldn’t open, for some reason.

                “Belle?” She knew that voice. A rough hand tilted her head gently, and pulled her eyelid open. She couldn’t focus her vision, but she made out light and darkness. “It’s all right, if you can hear me.” She heard his arms splash into the water, and then they lifted her out, easily, as though she was a child. “You’re not going to lose any fingers.” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Except for that dead bit of flesh where you touched that water.”

                Belle’s heart jumped suddenly, as memory struck her. Rumpelstiltskin was alive and well. He was holding her. She could feel the pounding of his heart, steady and strong, against her face. She let out a shuddering sigh, and only dimly felt herself become suddenly dry.

~

                Belle blinked her eyes open, surprised and pleased to find herself comfortably warm. She was unsurprised to find herself wrapped in a blanket, and resting in the same soft chair as before. The creak of Rumpelstiltskin’s spinning wheel was new, though. She turned her head to see him working, facing the fire.

                “Hey,” she managed to say, through cracked lips and dry mouth. He sprang up, turning to her at once. He was back to normal, eyes small-pupiled and skin rough and half-scaled.

                “Belle,” he said. She shrugged off the blanket, wiggling her fingers, pleased to see that they moved fluidly and painlessly.

                “How did we get back here?” she asked, confused suddenly. “I remember falling asleep in the snow.” He brought her a cup of water, which she took gratefully.

                “That was your doing,” he said, looking down. “You dragged me far enough that I was outside the boundaries of that place. My magic returned.” He flourished his black-nailed hand. “Back to demonhood.” Belle frowned at him.

                “But you’re not. You’re a man.” She studied him: under the odd skin, his nose had the same slope, and the structure of his face was the same. Even his big, wide eyes were preserved, though made yellow-green and unsettling.

                “And look what good that did me,” he snapped. Then he seemed to collect himself, and snapped his fingers, bringing her a plate of food. He set it down next to her, and looked away again. “I—thank you for taking care of me.” There was a snarling catch in his voice, and more than a little disgust with himself. Belle set her food aside and stood, a little unsteadily.

                He flinched away from her hand on his arm.

                “What?” she asked, taking it again. He hissed his breath out shortly.

                “You didn’t have to do that. And I assure you, I’m fine now.” Belle frowned once more, deeply confused.

                “Are you angry?” she asked.

                “Not at you,” he said, and turned back towards her. “Belle, please, rest.” Belle gripped his fingers, smiling helplessly at the warmth inside them.

                “I’m glad you’re safe. Thank you for taking care of me,” she added, echoing his words.

                “It was nothing.”

                “No, it wasn’t. It was my life, and you saved it.” Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers clenched around hers at her words.

                “I saved it, yes, with a few thoughts. A little magic back here, and a tub of hot water to warm you.” He wasn’t looking at her, again. “You _carried_ me.” Belle couldn’t tell if it was shame or gratitude or both that colored his voice. “ _You_ solved the last riddles while I _slept._ ” She ran her hands up his arms.

                “Don’t be upset about it. You tried to help.” She hugged him, drawing him close to her. He froze. When she pulled away, he gave her a bemused look. “Now what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

                “You still touch me, even when I’m like this.” Belle let herself smirk at him.

                “You don’t remember me telling you I had to get between your legs, before we even left?” He stared at her, completely thrown by her outrageous comment, and she took pity on him. “I’m just checking to see that you’re all right.” She ran her hands up and down his back, as she had in the caves. He was still spooked, and picked up the blanket she had discarded and drew it over her shoulders with nervous hands. “I thought you might die.”

                He wrinkled his face, as though she had presented him with something revolting.

                “Unlikely,” he said. He seemed more comfortable in his trickster’s voice, teasing her. Belle couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him again.

                “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. He patted her back cautiously.

                “Likewise,” he drew away and offered her the water again. “And I think we can agree that you were the hero, in the most traditional sense, for that.” She blinked at the sudden mention of her confession in the caves, and took a long sip of water to collect herself.

                “I suppose,” she said, a little tearfully. Rumpelstiltskin caught her cheek in one hand, suddenly looking concerned.

                “Don’t cry, please. You had blood freeze in your nose and cut the inside, it will hurt a lot.” She let out a weak laugh at that, and blinked a few tears down her cheeks.

                “Thanks for the warning,” she whispered, and was suddenly very tired. “I think I need to sleep some more.” She set the water down and touched his cheek, pulling him down so she could kiss the other gently. It felt almost like ordinary skin, just a tad rougher. His eyes were extremely wide, and she retreated to the bed, drawing the curtains almost all the way closed. “You can stay and spin, if you like.” She poked her head outside the curtain. He hadn’t moved at all, and she saw him snatch his hand away from his cheek.

                “Yes,” he said, dazed. Belle climbed under her pile of blankets, mind drifting sleepily to lying on cold cave floors with Rumpelstiltskin. She was on the very edge of sleep when she heard him move towards the bed. He adjusted the curtains around the bed, and then she heard a rustle of cloth and felt a light, quick kiss on her forehead. It seemed to sink into her skin and down to her heart, warming her. She felt her lips curve up into a smile as she fell asleep.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Author's Note:**

> Stole the magic square puzzle from a Stargate: Atlantis episode.


End file.
